


Where You Are

by Catchclaw



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Established Relationship, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 05:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17197607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Shiro has a bad habit of getting lost.





	Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Still trying to get a handle on these two.

Shiro has a bad habit of getting lost. In grocery stores, in libraries, at concerts; on those rare occasions when they can both stomach the mall. He has a tendency to drift, is the thing, to see something delightful or meet a person who’s fascinating and poof, he gets carried away from Keith’s side.

It’s not that they’re glued at the hip, no matter what Lance will say snide or Pidge suggests with a grin and a wink. They like each other’s company, that’s all, and given how hard the universe made them fight to find each other, much less be together, then their--ok, yes--occasional clinginess should be understandable. That’s what Keith thinks, anyway.

Shiro, though, Shiro laughs about it. It doesn’t worry him a goddamn bit, what other people say about them, what other people think, and there are days when Keith wishes to god he weren’t so sensitive to it, so keenly aware, because looking like he doesn’t give a shit when his friends razz him about his possessiveness, his jealousy, his habit of going white when Shiro slips out of sight is a pain in the ass.

“Oh my god,” Lance will say, or Hunk, or Pidge. “Calm down, dude. Shiro’s right over there. See?” 

And he is, always. He’s there. By the Sunglass Hut or the nonfiction section or the stall of the organic blueberry guy.

“You shouldn’t let them upset you,” Shiro says when he gets really riled up, when there’s cartoon steam coming out of his ears and he’s had to storm away from the group. “They’re just giving you a hard time.”

“I know,” Keith will say through gritted teeth. “I know, I know, it’s just--”

“They like seeing you happy. They just don’t know how to say it.”

“No, they like yanking my chain.”

Shiro will laugh and kiss his cheek, smooth his hands up the tense plains of Keith’s back. “Yes, well. That, too.” 

The edges of the world will go a little fuzzy then with Shiro that close, with the gentle knead of his fingers and the warm rush of his breath soaking up all of Keith’s energy, leaching out the tension and the spikes. “You have to admit,” Shiro will say softly, “you’re very easy to wind up.”

“I am, huh?”

“Mmmm.” A turn of his head, a brush of his lips over Keith’s chin. “I speak from experience.” Nails gentle at the base of his spine, an easy claw that bites through his t-shirt in summer, his sweater in fall, a gasp from his own mouth that makes Shiro’s curl into a grin. “See?” Shiro will whisper over the band or the noise of the crowd or the Muzak in the frozen section section. “Easy.”

What’s funny is how long it takes Keith puts two and two together, the power of their particular weaknesses.   


“Wait a second,” he says one sunny afternoon at the farmers’ market, pulling back to squint up at Shiro. “Wait a goddamn second.”

“What?”

“You do it on purpose, don’t you?”

“Do what?”

“Wander off when we’re in places like this.”

Shiro gives him a big, innocent blink. “I’m not following.”

“No,” Keith says. “You never do. You’re leading, aren’t you?”

“Leading who where?”

Keith’s grinning like an idiot, he can feel it; beaming away beside the bakery table like the big, lovestruck moron that he is. “You know it makes me nuts when I don’t know where you are. That’s why you make a fucking point of getting lost.”

Shiro’s fingers, metal and flesh, find his belt loops and form small, insistent knots. “I always know where I am.”

“Yeah, but I don’t. And you like that it makes me crazy.”

Three-quarters of a smile. “Is that a question?”

“Think it’s a statement of fact. What do you think?”

“I think,” Shiro says, nudging him towards the fence, towards the slim midday shadows, “that I love you and that you’re beautiful when you’re wound up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keith’s back hits the fence and Shiro crowds him, blocking out everything but the press of their bodies, the warm, honeyed slide of his voice. “And I love how you get afterwards when we finally get somewhere private. The way you look at me, the way you put your hands all over me. The way you make me say that I’m yours.”

Keith’s knees are melted ice cream, shaved ice in a cup; his arms are wound around Shiro’s neck and he is not panting two feet from the lavender farm's table. He’s not. “Shiro,” he gets out. “Oh god.”

“It’s bad,” Shiro murmurs, “I know. Manipulative. And utterly selfish. But I ran out of ways to say  _ I’m not going anywhere _ , to prove to you that you couldn’t chase me away.” A smile, a sound that makes Keith clutch at his shoulders. “So I thought I’d show you instead.”

When their mouths meet, it’s messy, like a first kiss gone awry; both too eager to do any good. But the second kiss against that damnable fence is electric: Shiro’s hands on his hips, holding him steady; his own tumbling, catching, kneading on Shiro’s chest, digging at the pound of his heart; the sink of Shiro’s tongue, quick and unyielding, like he’s doing his best to kiss Keith straight into the ground.

“We’re leaving,” Keith says when there’s air again, when he manages to pry open his eyes. “Right now. Going. You and me. Home."

In bed, Shiro opens for him, spreads like a flower in semi-clean sheets, his grin a mile wide.

“What’re you smiling about?” Keith says, watching Shiro’s body suck him in, greedy.

“You,” Shiro says. He lifts an arm elegant and cups Keith’s jaw, rubs a thumb at the tension there, the tight. “The look on your face right now.”

“Yeah? What do I look like?”

“Like you’re fucking me with your fingers and yet some part of you is still afraid I’ll get away.”

“No,” Keith says, too stupid with love to hide it, to turned on to know how to lie. “I’m afraid that you want to. That one of these days I’ll turn around and never be able to find you again.”

Shiro’s expression ripples, a rock thrown into the tide. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, the smirk disappearing, his mouth bowing. “Baby, that’s not what I--”

Keith leans up to kiss him. “I know,” he says. “I know in my head, but my heart--it’s determined to be dumb, I guess.”

“Not dumb,” Shiro says against his mouth. “Not dumb. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have messed with you like that. I should’ve just told you that I--”

“Shut up.” A nip of teeth, a stretch of his fingers. A groan that earthquakes Shiro’s chest. “Shut up and let me fuck you and then you apologize all you want, all right?”

“Please,” Shiro gets out, his back bowing, his hips trembling. “Keith, yes.  _ Please _ .”

When they fuck, it’s always overwhelming, too much and too good and too fast, but today, as soon as he’s inside, it’s blinding. Shiro is scalding and Shiro is tight and Shiro is pulling his hair hard the way that he likes it and moaning with every shove of Keith’s hips. It’s that sound more than anything that drives him: a sound that grows louder, that frays.

“I need you,” he hears himself say, the words slicing through the heat and the want. “I need you so fucking bad, Shiro.”

Shiro whines, his hands slipping in Keith’s hair. “Need you. Need you, too.”

“Yeah? Then why do you keep leaving me, huh? Why do you keep wandering away?”

“I’m sorry. I said, I’m so sorry, I’m--”

“Maybe I need a way to keep you close to me, huh? When we’re in public. When you think it’s funny to wander off.”

Shiro’s cock twitches between them. “Not funny,” Shiro pants. “It’s not funny, I don’t think that it’s--”

“Oh, yes you do.”

“ _ No _ .”

Keith fucks in harder, grits his teeth. “Yes. You. Do.”

Shiro flails, lets out a gorgeous, hungry wail that might be Keith’s name, and Keith bends over him, tucks his mouth beside Shiro’s ear. 

“If you can’t stay where you’re supposed to,” Keith spits, “if I can’t trust you to stay by my side, maybe next time we go out, I should put you on a leash.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Would you like that?”

He feels Shiro’s hand worm its way between them, feels him get a grip on his cock. “I think--I think I--”

Keith is fire, he is flame, he is a thousand burning coals set alight ever and always by Shiro’s body, by Shiro’s breath, by Shiro’s unshakable, unwavering love. “You’d like it,” he says, his voice beaten thin by desire. “Put something around your neck, here”--a lick, a long, vicious suck--“and then tie you to me. Put you on a short fucking leash.”

“Yes. Yes, baby. Yes.”

“Keep you close.” His hips stutter. “Keep you so close to me. Never let you go again. Never let you get out of my sight.”

“Please,” Shiro gets out, his fist flying now, his whole body a bow. “Please don’t let me go.”

He buries his face against Shiro’s throat and bellows, a sound from way down in the deep, and when he lets go, it’s less like dropping the reins than having them yanked away, torn from his grasp as he comes with a paper-thin gasp, shoving himself up and in, and Shiro’s saying something, saying something, saying:

“Stay in me. Stay in me. Don’t leave.”

Keith groans and spurts again, his body giving one last feeble jerk.

“Stay in me,” Shiro says again, a furious whisper. “Don’t leave! Let me--”

Then his metal fingers are crawling on the back of Keith’s neck and he’s hot and sweet sighing and he’s coming, spilling himself on his own skin, on Keith’s--the smell of him everywhere, the heat.

In a minute, they’ll part and be two again, two bodies, two men, two separate selves. But for now, they breathe the same air, a perfect, flawed pair who in each other found love.

“So,” Shiro says in time, when the sunstroke of the afternoon starts fading. “What was that stuff about a leash?”

Keith’s face blazes. He hides the damn thing against Shiro’s shoulder. “Oh, god. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that."

"Keith--"

"Can I plead heat of the moment? Because that’s what it was. I have no idea where that even came from! I’d never--god, Shiro, you can’t think I’d ask you to do something like that.”

“Not in public,” Shiro says slowly, “no. But if it’s just between us, if it’s here, in our bed...well. That might be another story.”

Keith’s head flies up. “What?”

“I mean, if that’s something you’d like to try.”

“I--I don’t know.” Shiro smoothes a hand over his cheek and he knows that he’s smiling, knows he must have the dopiest grin. “I’ll think about it. How’s that?”

“Good. I will, too."

He curls up in Shiro’s arms, Shiro’s mouth warm and soft at the back of his neck. 

“Close your eyes,” Shiro murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And he is, always. He is.


End file.
